Even when people drift apart, even when silence grows, something always remains.
I still carry you with me. Not in the obvious ways, not in every thought, not in every day but in small, quiet moments that catch me unaware. A memory of your laugh when no one else is around. A joke we shared that still makes me smile. The comfort of knowing that someone once understood me completely, in ways no one else could.
It surprises me sometimes how much of you is still part of my world, even though we no longer live in the same one. Your presence lingers in habits, in thoughts, in the way I react to certain things. I catch myself saying things I know you would have understood instantly, or thinking about how you might have responded. And for a moment, it feels like you're still there.
What remains is not the closeness, not the constant messages, not the effortless laughter. Those things are gone. But what remains is the imprint of what we were. The version of friendship that shaped me, that changed me, that taught me how it feels to be truly known.
And maybe that's the most beautiful part. That even when people leave, even when friendships fade, they leave a trace. A memory. A lesson. A part of yourself that you didn't know existed until someone else reflected it back to you.
I don't miss the old version of us as much as I miss what it taught me about love, care, and connection. And somehow, that's enough.
Even now, I think of you with a quiet smile. With gratitude. With a little ache, yes but mostly with warmth.
Because what we had wasn't forever, but it wasn't meaningless.
Some things never truly leave. They remain, tucked inside, shaping who we are, reminding us that some friendships are timeless even if the people in them are not.